


It's always been you

by Alba_lass12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Birth, Character Death, Desperate Sherlock, Domestic Bliss, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Description, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I Told You There'd Be Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss, Love her or lose her, Mentions of forced sex, Pain and Fear, Pregnant Molly, Somewhat graphic, Trauma, True Colours, Virgin Molly, Virgin Sherlock, Wakes & Funerals, homebirth, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alba_lass12/pseuds/Alba_lass12
Summary: Following the events at Sherrinford both Sherlock and Molly try to figure out their feelings and dreams. They both know they're meant for each other, but an old foe tries to disrupt their plans.





	1. Please, help

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> So, this is my first-ever attempt at writing anything like this..  
> I hope you like it, and please feel free to leave a comment or feedback!

Life had never been this quiet at Baker Street; there seemed to be an air of desertion and lifelessness that surrounded the place. It had been only three months since the all-revealing phone call he had been forced to make. In the direct aftermath of the events that took place in Sherrinford she had been there for him on the rare occasion there had been a danger night. Trying to keep him focused and present, stroking back his sweaty curls, sometimes even placing a gentle kiss on his temple to let him know she was there. Molly seemed to know exactly what to say or how to hold him when he was on the verge of giving up. He needed her presence, needed to be able to listen to her talking about her day, burying his face in her long soft hair. He hated himself for not mustering up the courage to tell her how he truly felt. He loved her, yearned for her and wanted to be with her, but couldn’t face the possibility that she might turn him down. Over the last couple of days, he’d felt himself slipping away. he didn’t sleep anymore, ate even less than he used to do, and – much to his disdain – even phoned Billy to come over and get him some.  
It was after the first needle had entered his vein Sherlock knew he’d gone too far; he hadn’t used anything since waking up on the plane. He hadn’t missed the drugs one bit, as long as he was working and kept his mind busy he was fine. But now, it seemed he had entered a state where nothing mattered, he felt lonely – properly alone – for the first time in his life. The cloudy haze of his once-beloved opium captured his brain and he felt himself drifting into nothingness, hollow and numb, not feeling the pain of love. His head hit the back of his chair, he closed his eyes and felt a single tear funning down his face.

She had just started her night shift at Bart’s, something she didn’t mind – preferred even, work always seemed more interesting in the small hours of the morning. In front of her was the body of a 47-year-old man who had died after drowning on dry land in the middle of a field. Sherlock had of course figured it out within a few hours, rambling on about an old schoolfriend wanting revenge, the perfect weather conditions and the fact the victim had eaten a curry 5 hours earlier. She didn’t expect to find any surprises with this particular case given the fact that Sherlock had provided her with every medical issue the man had ever had and half an hour later she zipped the bag back up and signed the file, marking it “complete”. It was just after 11 when she went upstairs to the cafeteria to fetch a cup of tea and a slice of cake when her phone buzzed.

“I need you  
Please  
Help  
SH”

She had hoped there would come a time when danger nights were a thing of the past. Whenever her phone rang, she dreaded seeing John’s of Mycroft’s name on the screen. She had gained so much respect for John, he had been the one to deal with Sherlock during a time when danger nights had been much more common. Seeing him suffer, swear, cry and curl up in a ball was hard enough now, but she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for John. Alarmed by the fact it was Sherlock himself who texted her, she ran back to the morgue to grab her bag, leaving a short note to her colleague saying she had a family emergency.  
As she made her way to St. Paul’s to catch a tube to Baker Street, her mind wandered back to that one day. Her mother had called earlier that day to ask if she’d called her friend’s son to meet up – which Molly knew was her mother’s way of asking if she was seeing anybody else, that she wasn’t getting any younger and whatnot. Angry with her mother and feeling sad for herself she had gotten up to make a cup of tea and grab the biscuit tin from the cupboards. As she was making her tea, her phone rang. She looked at it, saw his name on the screen and felt a punch to her stomach. Deciding to ignore it, she carried on finishing her tea – she couldn’t bear to speak to him, not today. The phone kept ringing and her sense of responsibility took over, what if there was something wrong, what if he was at Bart’s and needed her help? Reluctantly she picked up, intending to keep it short and casual. Within five minutes her head was spinning and she couldn’t believe what he’d said to her. Sherlock, her Sherlock, Sherlock bloody Holmes had told her he loved her, she knew from his voice he meant it, the shock and realisation audible in his words. 

Twenty minutes later, Molly walked up the steps and opened the black front door. It was dark in the hallway, Mrs. Hudson would have been sound asleep and it was eerily quiet in the building. Slowly, she made her way upstairs, her heart pounding faster with every step she took. On the landing she took a moment to get her breathing under control, swallowed hard and opened the door, dreading what she might find in the next room.


	2. Can you stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the second chapter..and I'm not sure it came out as I had hoped  
> This is all to set up the actual story, but I really struggled with this one.
> 
> I hope you like it, and please do leave feedback and comments if you want to!

Molly stepped into the room, which was lit only by the street lights outside and smelled of tobacco and Sherlock's musky, masculine aftershave. Her eyes had to adjust to the darkness and the utter and extreme silence scared her. She had seen him high as a kite quite a few times now, he had always been rambling, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, his movements and speech unpredictable but never-ending. A horrible, sickening thought occurred in her head; what if she was too late this time, what if she found him but could no longer help him? She jumped as a quiet, hoarse voice came from the darkness. "Hello Molly," she turned around and saw Sherlock curled up in his chair, his head slopped to the side, visibly shaking. Carefully, Molly stepped forward and crouched next to him, looking up into his face, slowly pulling back his hair so she could see the sweat on the bridge of his nose. "Are you alright Sherlock? What do you need me to do?" He looked up at her, and she noticed his eyes were red, she could even see traces on his face where tears had streamed down it. Gently, Molly maneuvered herself onto the chair's armrest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Shh, it's ok Sherlock, you're ok, I'm here." His head fell into her lap, silent tears dripping onto her jeans. As she stroked his hair with one hand, the other reached behind her, finding the light switch. Suddenly the room was flooded in bright yellow light, she felt Sherlock flinch at this sudden change and she adjusted the dimmer so that the brightness faded. Molly looked around the room, it was cluttered as usual; stacks of paper, discarded files and notes everywhere, all covered ever so slightly in dust; they hadn't been touched in a couple of weeks. She turned her head back to Sherlock when she noticed his left arm hanging over the side of the chair. Tiny drops of blood covered the inside of his arm, tracing up to the point where the needle was sticking in his flesh. Quickly, but careful enough not to startle Sherlock, she stood up and walked to the bathroom. She knew there used to be a first-aid kit in the cupboard under the sink, she remembered the argument Sherlock had had with John. John had insisted on keeping it within easy reach, claiming it was important to keep all essentials in one central place in case of an emergency. Sherlock had dismissed this argument of course, but had eventually given in; making this one of the few wins for John.

Molly found the first-aid kit and took out some latex gloves, gauze and a band-aid. She returned to the living room, sitting down next to Sherlock and methodically removed the needle from his arm before placing the gauze over the entry point. "Sherlock, I need you to look at me and listen," she said as she stood up. "I'm going to help you get into bed so you can get some rest and if you want I'll stay and sleep on the sofa." He got up, willingly like a tired child ready for bed, and made his way to the bedroom, still not uttering a single word. Molly followed him and she felt an increasing sense of worry; she had never seen Sherlock like this before, this tame and – dare she say it – broken. It seemed something incredibly terrifying had happened to him, but Sherlock had never been scared, had he? He had come home after the events at Sherrinford and it had taken him all but half an hour to get back into his normal self. Something else had happened, something important had triggered this reaction, but she couldn't think of anything that would upset Sherlock as much as this. She stepped into the bedroom, where Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. "Here, let me help you with those." Molly walked up to him and placed her hands over his trembling fingers. Silently she helped him undress and change into a clean pair of pyjamas she had found in his chest of drawers. She couldn't help but look at Sherlock as he stood in front of her in his boxers; on many occasions she had let her mind wander and imagine what Sherlock would look like without his clothes on. She hadn't pictured it like this, at least not under these circumstances; the man in front of her was not the man she found attractive, it was the man she loved and cared for. Sherlock slowly shuffled to his bed and climbed in, burying his face deep in the pillows, muttering something inaudible under his breath. Molly looked at him, took a deep breath and turned off the lights.

Just as she was about to leave the room Sherlock spoke louder "Please Molly, can you stay?" She turned around and said "I told you Sherlock, if you want, I'll sleep on the couch, I won't leave you alone tonight." "Would you stay here, with me?" Confused Molly looked at him, "I'll be on the couch next door, if you need anything I'll be there." With a painful groan Sherlock sat up and pulled back the covers next to him. "I mean, will you lie here with me? If you wouldn't mind of course. I think I'd like to be close to you." Hesitantly Molly walked over to the other side of the bed and took off her shoes, socks and trousers. As she slid under the covers, Sherlock slumped back onto his pillow with a relieved sigh. Their eyes met properly for the first time that night and Molly felt a slight flutter in her stomach. Despite his current condition he still was absolutely gorgeous, his pale grey-blue eyes piercing her soul, confirming her feelings; she loved him unconditionally. Sherlock stretched out his arms, inviting Molly to curl up into his embrace. He felt his mind settle for the first time in weeks, his thoughts less troubled and his head clearing; he felt safe being this close to her. As he closed his eyes he whispered "I think I really love you Molly Hooper," and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Please, let me be yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. Get ready for some fluff next chapter!

The first rays of sunshine made their way through the closed curtains, bleak sunlight falling across Sherlocks peaceful, sleeping face. Molly slowly opened her eyes, it took her a second to realise she wasn’t in her own bed. She rolled over to her side and looked at Sherlock; his hair messy and his mouth open; allowing a quiet snore to escape. It hadn’t been the best night’s sleep she’d ever had, it had taken her hours before she felt relaxed enough to allow herself to drift off to sleep. She had watched him for a long time, making sure he was breathing properly, feeling both worried and happy at the same time. Worried that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Sherlock, happy he had at last spoken to her and he seemed at ease with her close to him. Her stomach growled and she looked at her watch; it was just after 8 o’clock in the morning, which meant her body was demanding food and caffeine. Quietly she slipped out of bed, cheekily taking Sherlock’s robe and wrapped it around herself as she made her way to the kitchen. It was dark in the flat so she walked up to the windows and opened the curtains and windows, allowing fresh, crisp spring air to flood the rooms. In the kitchen she found some slices of bread she could toast, and absentmindedly set to make a pot of tea. Pouring herself a mug, she walked back into the bedroom and crawled onto the bed, watching Sherlock as she sipped her tea. After a while she placed the empty mug on the bedside table and nestled herself back under the covers, closing her eyes.

In the distance she heard a beeping noise and sighed; she didn’t want her alarm to go off just yet, she could just hit the snooze button and sleep for five more minutes. The beeping became louder and louder, a horrible, never-ending noise. Waving her arms around, trying to find the alarm clock, her hand brushed against something warm. It grabbed her, long slender fingers wrapping around her wrist and alarmed she opened her eyes. “Dear Miss Hooper, next time you plan to stay here, would you be so kind to not try and burn down the entire flat?” Sherlock was standing next to the bed, a boyish smirk gracing his face and holding a plate with two slices of extremely burnt toast. She couldn’t help but giggle at this scene and quickly sat up. “Oh my, I’m sorry Sherlock, I came back to bed after making tea and completely forgot about the toast.” He slid back under the covers with her and wrapped his arms around her, “Of course you did, I’m sure you didn’t have the best of nights, what with me being –“ he lowered his eyes, the slightest of slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have asked you to stay, it was too much to ask. But I couldn’t – I didn’t want to be alone,” he sighed, his lip quivering. “The thing is, I was scared. My mind rebelled against my will, my thoughts scattered and no longer my own.” Molly felt a lump in her throat and her eyes started to sting, “What happened Sherlock? Do you want to talk about it?” He looked down at his knees, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

It was quiet for a long time before Sherlock lifted his head, his tired eyes meeting Molly’s and he started to speak, slowly and hesitantly, “I am confused, I have never been this useless before. After I came back from Sherrinford I thought I was fine, work was keeping me occupied, but I didn’t have time to think properly,” He shifted closer to Molly and gently guided her back into the pillows so that they were both lying on their sides, fingers intertwined and faces close to each other. “Seeing Euros, the bright and clever girl, decaying in a prison cell triggered something inside me. She is my sister, she could have done so much with her life, but instead she lost the fight in her head. What if I am more like her than I think? What if I lose everything as well?” Molly looked at him, feeling incredibly sorry for him, Sherlock was much more emotional than he ever dared to admit, and he couldn’t deal with it. She carefully placed her hand on his cheek, stroking it with her thumb and shushed, trying to calm and comfort him, “Sherlock, you are not like your sister, you are kind, you care and love. And let me assure you, if ever you happen to be on the verge of going insane, there are plenty of people who would stop you.” “Why can’t I be normal Molly? Why is my head so messed up? I just want to have a life like others, is that too much to ask for?” He could feel his eyes water and a knot forming in his stomach. It was a strange sensation, his words seemed to find their way to his mouth before he had time to think about them. He hated to admit, but he was pouring his heart out, blurting out thoughts and feelings to her. Molly caught his drifting eyes with her gaze and whispered softly “Your head is not messed up, you’re just confused. Nobody is normal and even if everybody was, I wouldn’t want you to be normal,” A little voice in her head told her to just speak her mind, tell him how she truly felt. “I want you to be you, Sherlock. Brilliant, wonderful, the best consulting detective. But most importantly, I want you to be mine. If you’d like that, I’ll be yours and never, ever, let you doubt yourself again.” Sherlock seemed to be taken aback by her words, his mouth open in an attempt to make a witty remark, but his body had a mind of its own. He took her head in his hands, bringing his lips to hers. He kissed her, their lips meeting for the first time; setting off fireworks in his head and deep down in his stomach. He closed his eyes and got lost in the feeling. Sherlock knew this was how it was supposed to be, he belonged to her. After what seemed like forever, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “Molly, please, let me be yours, I want to.”


	4. I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this is a long one.  
> But one that was quite fun to write and think about... :)

Molly felt like the room was spinning, butterflies seemed to explode in her stomach and her mind went blank. The feeling of Sherlock’s lips on hers felt absolutely amazing, she hadn’t expected him to be such a good kisser. She opened her eyes and saw Sherlock’s smiling face as he nuzzled his nose against hers. “Well this was a new experience for me. There have been women I’ve kissed, there was Janine of course, Irene Ad-“ He stopped abruptly, realising he was spoiling the mood. In an attempt to redeem himself he kissed her again, this time parting her lips with his tongue ever so slightly. She accepted his actions and let her tongue meet his, circling around it and exploring his mouth. The butterflies in her stomach gave way to a burning sensation even deeper down in her pelvis. Her hands grabbed his curls, humming approvingly in his mouth as he kissed her with more passion than before. He rolled her onto her back and awkwardly positioned himself over her, flopping down on her body. “Ouch! Sherlock, dear, you’re crushing me,” she giggled. Quickly he shifted onto his elbows, taking his weight off Molly and looked into her eyes. “I fear I might not be that good at this whole thing. You see, I’ve never been with – I never had, what I mean is I’m still –“ Molly shushed him and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “To be honest, this a first for me as well. Somehow it just never happened and over time I realised I didn’t want my first time to be with someone whom I didn’t choose to be with.” “You mean you’ve never slept with a man before? What about Tim or what was his name? You seemed to be awfully familiar with him when you were going out.” 

She sighed, “Sherlock, let me teach you one thing, if you want to get a woman to make love to you, you don’t bring up their ex-boyfriends, fiancés of past lovers.” Sherlock chuckled sheepishly, but suddenly his smile fell of his face, his eyes looked discouraged. “Molly, do you want this? I’m sure there are more suitable men for this sort of occasion,” She got up so that she was sitting on Sherlock’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want you, I love you. And I just hope you want me as well,” She dropped her head and started kissing his neck, tiny kisses trailing up to his ear, his cheek and eventually his lips. A moan escaped Sherlock’s throat and he carefully laid her back onto the pillows. His hands made their way to her thighs, circling his fingers as he slid them over her smooth skin up to her hips. Sherlock moved his head down to her breasts, kissing both of them long and tenderly. Molly felt her body tense up, unfamiliar with this amazing, exciting feeling. This was it, she thought, was she really ready for this? Just as she wanted to share her doubts with Sherlock, he took her left breast into his mouth, slightly pinching her nipple with his teeth. Her mind was no longer her own then, she seemed to slip into a wonderful haze of pure bliss, all she wanted was Sherlock, and she wanted him now. He continued to kiss her breasts and neck, his hands trailing down to the hem of her underwear. He looked up to ask her if he could take it off, but before he opened his mouth she nodded. She lifted her hips so that he could easily slip the fabric over her perfect, soft buttocks. He tossed her panties over his head into the corner and took a moment to appreciate her perfect beauty. By force of habit, Molly tried to cross her legs, painfully aware of her body. She didn’t think she was ugly, but she couldn’t say she loved everything about herself. Her legs had scars from where she had scratched her skin as a child due to eczema, and suddenly she realised she hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. Tiny dark hairs adorning her legs, which made her feel even more insecure. Blushing, she looked at Sherlock, who was still sitting back on his knees, staring at her body, “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’d understand if you don’t want –“ it was him who interrupted her this time. “Sorry for what? You think I don’t fancy you merely because you don’t like your body. You let your insecurity hold you back. Well let me tell you Molly Hooper, I think you are absolutely beautiful and I love every inch of you.” He shuffled down to the end of the bed and sunk down onto his elbows. Slowly, tenderly, he took both Molly’s legs, placed her ankles close to her bum and let her knees fall to the side. He kissed the inside of her thighs and teasingly let his tongue slide up to the cute curly hairs on her mound. Placing another kiss, he felt the burning heat coming from her. It triggered something in his body, a throbbing sensation building up in his penis and his breath quickened. He slowly let his tongue trail up and down Molly’s lips, sucking at her clit every so often. Molly sunk down into the mattress, her body surrendering to Sherlock’s moves and she realised she’d started to hum and whisper his name when his mouth hit the right spot. This felt amazing, why had she worried? She’d never ever want this moment to end, wanted to get lost in the feeling. The burning sensation in her groin grew bigger and bigger as Sherlock kept working on her most sensitive area. Just before it reached its peak, he suddenly stopped, drawing his face away from her. Confused Molly opened her eyes, “What are you doing? Please, don’t stop! I need you!” Sherlock grinned and moved back up again so that their faces were close to each other. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring every corner of her mouth, his hands clumsily trying to pull down his pyjama bottoms. For a brief moment his lips left hers as he took off his boxers, his erection springing free from the fabric. Molly couldn’t help but look at it, gasping at the beauty of his arousal and longingness to her. Sherlock sank back into the bed, their completely naked bodies touching for the first time. Boldly, so she thought, Molly reached down and stroked Sherlock’s pulsating cock a few times. “Mmm, oh Molly that feels so good,” he moaned as he felt his heartbeat racing and he buried his face in the pillow next to her. Molly felt that he was close to climaxing and didn’t want it to be over just yet. Carefully she guided his penis to her entrance, putting it right where she wanted it. She placed her hand on the nape of Sherlock’s back and whispered “I want you inside me Sherlock, please make love to me.” 

He raised his head, gave her a loving look and kissed her again. This time he kept his mouth closed as he pressed his lips hard at hers, his hands stroking her long hair. Slowly, he pushed him against her entrance, feeling slight resistance at this movement. He kept kissing her, his left hand wandering to her exposed breast and cupping it, rubbing the nipple between his fingers. He felt her relax underneath him, her legs opening a bit more; allowing him to position himself again. As he took both her breasts in his hands, his tongue entered Molly's mouth again. Kneading her breasts, he could feel her moans humming in his mouth, her tongue desperately searching his. Suddenly he took his hands of her and gripped her wrists, bringing her hands to the back of his neck; he loved the feeling of her fingers running through his hair. He lifted his head and looked down at her, she had her eyes closed, a faint smile across her lips. "Molly," he said as he once more sank down onto his elbows so that his head was next to hers, "I love you." And with these words he pushed himself into her. Molly gasped at this sudden sensation and Sherlock felt her legs shake. He stilled his movements, giving Molly time to adjust to his size and when she let out a quiet moan, he started to move again. Slowly he pulled out of her and thrusted back into her wonderful heat. He felt his head starting to spin, his muscles burned and all he could do was move up and down, whispering her name over and over again. Molly thought she was going to explode, Sherlock's lovely cock seemed to fit her perfectly, and with each thrust she felt things she had never known of. She could feel something building up deep within her, her hands pulling at his curls, a moan escaping her lips every time Sherlock buried himself deep within her. She let herself go then, wrapping her legs against his hips to draw him in even deeper. She started to cry out his name as if it were a chant, a constant "oh Sherlock, please." He kept his pace even, his body moving on his own. They both felt their bodies building up to a climax, Molly had started to groan even louder whenever Sherlock filled her. He could feel his cock burning, his muscles tightening and his desire to bury himself into her became almost unbearable. Just as he thought he would ruin everything by finishing too soon, he felt the walls around his cock spasming. Molly seemed to be shaking uncontrollably and with the next thrust they both cried out each other's names. Sherlock emptied himself in Molly with one deep, almost primal move and he felt his entire body giving in to the sensation. Molly felt het muscles contracting as he came inside her, her nails digging in his skin and her teeth biting down on her lip. A sudden wave of surrender hit her and she let herself get carried away in the orgasm; the most wonderful feeling washed over her as her body shivered and shocked. Breathing heavily, Sherlock fell down next to her, smiling, he looked at her and kissed her again, "Wow Molly, that was -" "I - i know, it was. Thank you." Sherlock put his arm around her, drawing her close to him and after a while they both drifted off to sleep.          


	5. How domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff is over..  
> It's all about to change
> 
> Enjoy and by all means do leave comments and feedback if you want to!

It had been six weeks since Sherlock had texted Molly, asking her to come over, and she hadn’t left since. She went back to her flat twice, only to collect her clothes, some books and toiletries, and to clear out her fridge. Sherlock loved having Molly around; she’d settled in just fine, and their lives seemed to blend and complement each other perfectly. He hated to admit it, but this kind of domestic life was something he didn’t know he missed. Whenever he would come home late after chasing yet another suspect all across London, there she was; waiting for him. Sometimes reading a book in front of the fire, sometimes curled up on the sofa, her cup of tea dangling dangerously in her sleeping hands. More than once he would snuggle up behind her, his arms wrapped around her and they would sleep until Mrs. Hudson would wake them in the morning with a fresh pot of tea. Molly had never thought she would like life at Baker Street as much as she did, but it had felt like home straight away. She loved rummaging through Sherlock’s books and experiments, reading his notes on various cases, writing down the occasional remark on them here and there.

 

And then there was the sex, you couldn’t even call it lovemaking most of the time. By the second week after she’d moved in, they had “tried” out the shower, the dining table, Sherlock’s chair and the kitchen counters. Molly had never been in a relationship where she felt so at ease and happy; whenever Sherlock kissed her goodbye when she left for work, the butterflies in her stomach exploded over and over again. Life wasn’t always easy though; Sherlock had sworn he wouldn’t touch anything recreational anymore, but that didn’t mean he was a straightforward man to live with. There had been several occasions where glass pots filled with human remains went flying through the room, Sherlock would sometimes ignore her for hours as he ranted and mumbled under his breath. But whenever Molly would wrap her arms around his waist and kissed him on the back of his neck, she could almost see all the tension slide of his shoulders. She loved his hugs, they were big and deep, his long arms buried her in his embrace; she felt safe with him.

 

One cold night in November, John had come home with him after a case. They made their ways up the stairs, discussing the new evidence they had just uncovered. Sherlock opened the door and walked straight to Molly, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, working on a report for work. Sherlock picked her up with incredible ease and buried his face in her long, brown hair. John stood in the doorway and his mouth fell open as he watched Sherlock envelop Molly in a loving and passionate kiss. Jokingly, John noted that he had never seen Sherlock this mellow and soft. Sherlock, of course, interpreted this as an insult and started a counter-argument. “You think that my feelings for Molly have interfered with my ability to think and work. As much as I love her, let me tell you that my mind has not changed. I could still break anyone, simply by observing them and finding their weak spot. Don’t challenge me John Watson, I –“ John started to laugh, “Sherlock, please, I was just kidding. I’m happy for you two, you deserve it!” Sheepishly, Sherlock smiled at him, “Thank you John.” He said simply. Molly sighed, looking at the two men, turned on her heel and headed to the kitchen. “What would you like to eat? I was planning on making some baked mac and cheese, but perhaps you want something with a bit more sustenance? You know what, I’ll run out and go to the shops.” Before either Sherlock or John could protest, she’d grabbed her bag and went out the door.

 

Sherlock sank into his chair and sighed smilingly, “Isn’t she a rare creature?” he said, with content in his voice. John looked at him and couldn’t help but smile too, it was amazing to see Sherlock like this, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him this happy. “Yes, she is. Treasure her for when you hurt her, she’ll leave and I wouldn’t want that to happen to either of you.” He walked over to the sink and filled the kettle with water. It felt like yesterday he was still living here – so much had happened since; the wedding, Rosie, the night at the aquarium. John shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued to make both of them a cuppa. As he came back to the living room, he sat down on his old chair and looked around the room. Sherlock’s notes and files were still scattered across the place, but it didn’t seem as cluttered and dark anymore. John could see some picture frames had sneaked their way onto shelves, the curtains were open and the soft orange glow of the fireplace filled the room with a cozy, homely feel. Sherlock was quiet, for some reason he seemed unnerved; his foot tapping and his fingers playing with the pen he found lying next to him. He eyes kept looking at the clock above the fridge and to the closed door to his left. It had been 25 minutes since Molly left, John didn’t think anything off it, but seeing Sherlock this tense worried him, “What’s wrong?” “She should have been back by now, it’s been nearly half an hour. The shop is just around the corner and at this time of night it shouldn’t be so busy that it would take her this long.” “Relax Sherlock, it’s fine. She probably just ran into someone she knows, or she is chatting with Mrs. Hudson downstairs.” Sherlock didn’t seem to believe him and he stood up and walked to the window, he tried to act calm and casually brought his cup of tea to his mouth. As he pulled the curtain back a bit further his phone beeped. Quickly he turned around and grabbed his phone from the table. It was a text, but not from Molly.

 

_“I see you have a new pet._

_She seems to love you._

_How domestic, how dull,_

_I think I’ll go and say hello._

_JM”_

 

All Sherlock could hear was his mind screaming, the cup of tea fell out of his hands and shattered on the floor.


	6. Vatican Cameos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, enjoy :)

His ears were ringing with the screams in his head, he felt the room spinning and the floor giving way underneath his feet. A wave of sickening despair washed over him and he wished the screaming would stop so that he could think clearly. Suddenly, two hands gripped him by the shoulders and turned him around. A familiar, blurry face slowly swam into focus and he saw the terrified look on John’s face, “Ssh, Sherlock, please calm down. Tell me what happened.” Sherlock realised, much to his horror, that the screams in his head were in fact coming from his own mouth. He looked back at John, still shaking and finally went quiet. His voice was trembling when he finally spoke the words he’d wished he’d never say, “He’s got her John. She’s gone.” John didn’t quite understand what Sherlock meant, and bent down to pick up the phone that had fallen onto the floor. He went pale as he read the message; the initials at the bottom of the text made his stomach turn. John turned around and was about to ask Sherlock what they should do, when he saw the detective running down the stairs in utter desperation. He ran after him and when he reached the hallway he grabbed Sherlock by his coat, “Christ Sherlock, wait!” “I’ve got to go and find her John, with any luck they’re still close.” He swung the door open and rushed outside. Without thinking, John took his jacket and followed Sherlock as they ran towards the supermarket.

It took them no more than 5 minutes to reach Tesco; the streets were quiet this time of night. A black car was parked in front of the entrance and Sherlock felt sick as he saw Molly exit the shop – two carrier bags in her left hand. Her right hand was intertwined with a gloved one, which belonged to a dark-haired man who held her possessively. Sherlock tried to shout Molly’s name, but no sound came over his lips. He stood nailed to the ground and could only watch as Moriarty grabbed Molly’s lover back, pulled her closer to him and kissed her; a disgusting, animalistic kiss which seemed to startle Molly, leaving her unable to move. A tall, broad-shouldered man got out of the parked car and walked over to the other side to open the door for them. Moriarty guided Molly to the car, getting in first, but not letting go of her hand. Molly quickly looked around and spotted Sherlock and John, standing no more than thirty feet away from her. Her expression screamed for help, but her mouth seemed paralysed. Frightened, her eyes caught Sherlock’s and he could see the absolute terror in her face. As Moriarty dragged her into the car and she vanished out of his sight. In a quick move, Sherlock saw her left hand, still clutching the carrier bags; her fingers seemed to signal him. Her thumb and index finger shook as she tried to catch his attention. Sherlock froze to the spot as he saw her fingers forming a trembling V, followed by a C – _Vatican Cameos_. The door closed and the car drove off, quickly disappearing into the ongoing traffic. Sherlock ran after the car, his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs heaving. When the car took a sudden left, his legs gave out and he sunk down onto his knees. John caught up with him and crouched down next to him, “Come on, let’s get off this road before we get run over.” “Why? I might as well die here. She is gone John. Gone! I lost her,” Sherlock could feel his eyes sting, a lump forming in his throat; he hated his emotions taking over. John dragged him onto the pavement and shook him, trying to get him to focus “Sherlock, we have to go. Call Mycroft and Lestrade. We’ll figure out a plan,” his military mindset took over; he’d switched to cold-hearted, rational decision-making. “Don’t worry mate, we’ll find her. She’ll be back before you know it.”

 

 

***

 

It had been nearly 4 agonising months since that dreadful night. Sherlock had reached his breaking point; he refused to go to bed – which resulted into him collapsing onto the floor out of sheer exhaustion more than once. His rare moments of sleep were interrupted with horrible nightmares; flashbacks to seeing Molly disappear into the car, her terrified eyes breaking his heart. John had dragged him back to the flat and had urged him to call Mycroft, who immediately sprang into action. He’d ordered his best men to scan through the CCTV from the area, track down the car and instructed all customs personnel and Interpol to stop anyone who even remotely resembled either Molly or Moriarty. They had found the car three days later, abandoned, but neatly parked in a quiet residential area in the North of London with no trace of DNA left in it. Sherlock had been hopeful at that moment; if they found the car, surely they would at least find a trail leading them to Molly, but his hopes had subsided as the days went on. After two weeks Lestrade had come to Baker Street, as he opened the door Sherlock jumped up and ran over to the inspector. He had begged him to give him some leads, let him in on the case, look at the camera footage or even let him read the reports. But Lestrade could not offer him any consolation; he’d only come by to check up on Sherlock, making sure he hadn’t fallen back into his old habits. As weeks turned to months Sherlock became desperate, he knew too damn well from experience that if the police hadn’t found any conclusive evidence in an abduction-case within the first week, it was more than likely there wouldn’t be a happy outcome. Wherever he looked, he thought he saw Molly, his heart skipping a beat every time his phone rang; hoping it would be Mycroft of Lestrade with information.

It was a crisp, clear spring morning when Sherlock woke up screaming, drenched in sweat, Moriarty’s laugh still ringing in his ears from his latest nightmare. Absentmindedly he walked into the living room where John was sitting, reading a newspaper. John looked up as he heard Sherlock enter the room, “You alright mate? I heard you shouting,” “I’m fine.” Sherlock had resorted to this answer whenever people asked him how he was, it seemed easier than trying to explain how he truly felt. He sank into his chair, staring into the distance, feeling numb. His days seemed to consist of nothing more than pacing up and down the flat, answering John’s questions and staring out the window. John had suggested he’d pick up his violin, to keep him occupied; on two occasions Sherlock had done so. But whenever he would strike the first note his heart exploded with sadness, love and despair, so he hadn’t touched it in more than three months. As he sat, stirring his tea, listening to John attempting to make small talk, he felt himself drift away. A cloudy haze captured his brain as he went into his mind palace. Over the weeks he found himself wandering to the same place; a tiny room with dark wood on the walls, two comfy chairs and a roaring log fire. More importantly, on one of the chairs sat a small figure. He would spend hours in the room, talking to Molly, knowing too well she wasn’t real, but he couldn’t walk away. Even as a fantasy, Molly was gorgeous, her kind brown eyes gazing into his, her smile easing his ache. A loud beeping noise forced Sherlock to get back to the present and he opened his eyes. The screen of his phone lit up, displaying a new text.

 

“ _I think it’s time_

_Come and get_

_What once was yours_

_Or at least,_

_What’s left of it_

_JM_ ”


	7. I'm sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Another (by my standards) long and not so happy chapter..  
> I hope you enjoy it! :)

Sherlock felt sick and before he knew it he fell on his hands and knees, shaking violently. His stomach turned and twisted, he gagged and retched, a flood of vomit emitted from his mouth and splattered onto the floor. He coughed and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. With watery eyes he looked up at John, “I’ve lost her John. What has he done to her?” John walked over to Sherlock, heaved him onto the closest chair and quickly went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. As he came back in the room, he passed the glass to Sherlock, pulled up a chair next to him and put his hand on Sherlock’s knee. He took the phone from his friend’s trembling hands and read the message. Just as he wanted to lock the screen, another message came in. Quickly John opened it and saw a red blinking dot on a map, two coordinates written underneath it, as well as another terrifying note ‘You better hurry before I change my mind.’ “Sherlock,” John said, with a hoarse voice, “Sherlock, come on. I know where to find Molly, but we have to go now!” Reluctantly Sherlock stood up, the movement caused him to lose his balance and he slumped against the coffee table. A big sigh escaped his lungs and his limbs went numb, he couldn’t move – he didn’t want to anymore either, “I can’t John, I can’t face it. What if we’re too late? What is she’s –“ his voice and his heart broke at the sheer thought of it. 

John looked at him, with sorrow in his otherwise kind eyes. His friend had cracked, for all these months they hoped they would hear from Moriarty; that he would let them know where he kept Molly and what had happened to her. And now, with the prospect of finding her Sherlock had broken down. “I know mate, I know. But we must find her, for all we know she’s fine,” Suddenly Sherlock regained his strength and got up, still trembling; more out of rage than despair this time, “She might be fine? How can you even think that? You know Moriarty! Did you happen to forget that one time he placed explosives all over your body?” Sherlock towered over John, his impressive height shadowing the much smaller frame of that of his friend. The rage searing through his veins, hot and painful; it reminded him of the feeling of cocaine entering his bloodstream when he used to shoot up back in the day. It disgusted him and he forced himself to shift his focus on Molly. “I fear she might hate me for not finding her sooner,” he admitted to John as he sank back into his chair, calming down slightly. “I let her down John. For weeks and weeks I failed her, I couldn’t keep her safe.” John sighed and nodded, “You didn’t fail her, even if you feel like it. But don’t you think you can make it right by going out there and find her?” He fumbled in his pockets and took out his phone. His hands steady as he entered the number, “Mycroft?” he said as the person on the other side of the line answered. “Moriarty gave us a location. Yes, I know, but he’s scared,” John glanced at Sherlock, who was still sitting in his chair, staring into space. “Ok, thanks. We’ll see you there.” And with that he hung up. He grabbed his coat from the sofa and took hold of Sherlock’s arm, dragging him up and out into the hall, “We are going Sherlock. We have to find her, no matter what happened. Whatever you might feel now is not important remember? Today we have to be soldiers, and that means –“ “To hell with what happens to us,” Sherlock interrupted, a sudden determination in his expression. Together, they ran down the stairs, out the door and into the pouring rain. 

“Taxi!” shouted Sherlock and within seconds a black car pulled up before them. They got in, gave the directions to the driver and sat back; both their hearts bounding in their chest. The journey seemed to take ages; they seemed to have hit late-morning rush hour traffic. Sherlock watched London pass by outside his window, his foot tapping nervously as dozens of scenarios crossed his mind. He knew Moriarty – or so he thought – and if he knew one thing, it was that the consulting criminal was cruel, gothic, barbaric even. He dreaded to think what he could have done to Molly, how scared she must have been all this time, how much he could have hurt her. Sherlock felt his fists clenching at this thought, the rage flaming up again in his chest. As they crossed the Chelsea Bridge, John started to feel slightly uneasy; he didn’t question his ability to deal with the situation, it was Sherlock that worried him. The poor man seemed to have aged ten years over the span of the last four months. 

The cabbie turned the car left into a deserted street close to Battersea Park and pulled up next to an old, derelict cottage. The shutters hang crooked in their hinges, the walls covered in weeds and overgrown ivy. Sherlock and John got out of the car and walked up to the iron gate as the taxi drove off behind them. "You ready mate?" asked John. Sherlock nodded ever so slightly, opened the gate and walked to the front door. His senses were on edge, he found himself scanning every inch of the small building and its surroundings. Slowly he opened the front door, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and his nose picking up the damp and musty smell. He took the torch out of his pocket and turned it on – the white beam lighting up the entire room. The room was completely empty apart from a broken sink in the corner and a wooden bed against the back wall. Sherlock's stomach turned as he saw a tiny naked figure lying curled up on the stained mattress. Quickly he made his way over to the other side of the room. There was Molly, her back facing him and he saw the bruises and cuts that covered her body. Her shoulder blades were sticking out and he could see her ribs underneath her skin. "Molly?" Sherlock whispered as he approached her. She flinched and brought her hands to her face, curling up into herself, "No please, no more." Her voice sounded weak and terrified. "Molly, it's me. Love, I'm here." Sherlock took another step forward, he was no less than three feet away from her now. "Jim, stop it please. Don't do this to me. You can have your way with me, but please don't do this again." Sherlock's heart broke as he heard Molly beg and plead with who she thought was the man that had hurt her for all these month. He kneeled down next to the bed and gently placed his hand on her bony shoulder, "Ssh, Molly, it is me Sherlock. You're safe now, I'm here with John. We're getting you out of here," carefully he slid his arm under her head and took her other shoulder so that he could slowly turn her around. He felt her cold and battered skin under his hands and Molly shivered at his warm and gentle touch. As he turned her around and laid her on her back he gasped; Molly looked pale, her face hollow with puffy eyes. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight, her wrists skinny and scarred. Sherlock knew the cause of these scars; Molly had been tied up repeatedly over the past weeks. As he took her face in his hands and stroked her cheeks his eyes looked down to the rest of her body. His heart stopped as his eyes glanced over her chest and stomach; they were covered in bruises and bitemarks. Unlike the rest of her emaciated body, her breasts were swollen, her stomach protruded – skin stretched over what could only be a pregnant belly. "Oh Molly," he sighed, "I am so sorry." He got up, draping his warm and heavy Belstaff over her cold and beaten body, scooped her up into his arms, keeping her close to him. For the first time Molly opened her eyes and looked at him, a tired, scared and confused look. "I'm sorry Sherlock," and with that she sank into his embrace and let his warmth and familiar smell and feel wash over her, he had found her at last.


	8. It'll be alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will everything be alright though?

John stood in the doorway and had watched in horror as Sherlock approached Molly, even from a distance he could see the injuries she’d sustained over the past weeks. When Sherlock had rolled her over, John had felt a wave of sadness and remorse for Molly. It wasn’t difficult to assess the situation and the way her abdomen was swollen could only mean one thing; Molly was at least 15 weeks pregnant. Quickly John stepped outside, reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He knew Mycroft was on his way and he was convinced he’d bring an army of police, ambulances and MI5 with him. John dialled Mycroft’s number and within seconds the man answered, “Yes doctor Watson, where are you? I believe we are a mere five minutes away from the location,” “We found her Mycroft, she’s alive but she is in a pretty bad shape. We need an ambulance, but could you keep everyone else at bay?” John looked over his shoulder and saw Sherlock sitting on the floor with Molly in his lap, her back against his chest and her eyes still closed. “Understandably she is pretty shaken up, probably in shock. But she is with Sherlock now and he has calmed her down slightly. I believe that if too many people come charging through the door it would do more harm than it would do her good.” “Of course John,” Mycroft replied, “We’re close now, but I’ll keep everyone out of sight.” He hung up and John heaved a big sigh, of all the things Moriarty could have done to Molly, he had never thought the man would sink so low.

He walked back into the cottage, leaning against the doorpost so that he could keep an eye on the road as well as on Sherlock and Molly. The pair were still sitting quietly on the ground, Molly wrapped up in Sherlock’s coat, slumped against his familiar body. Sherlock held her tight with one arm, his right hand stroked her dirty and tangled hair as he silently hummed a tune he had written for her years ago after she helped him with his plans for the fall. His arm touched her stomach and he noticed his hand jerked away unconsciously, it felt wrong, tainted even and he hated himself for it; this was not on Molly. Moriarty had left his mark in the worst way imaginable. Sherlock knew how much Molly longed to become a mother, and if he were honest there had been many occasions where he imagined himself to be the one to have a child with her. Could he still love her whilst she was carrying another man’s child, especially one who he hated to his very core? He looked up and saw John standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets and staring blankly ahead. Sherlock thought of Mary and Rosie, how much John loved them and how heartbroken he had been after Mary had passed. A sudden realisation hit him, he loved Molly with all he had and the thought alone of losing her again was too much to bear. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arm back around her, holding her even tighter than before.

Another figure appeared in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. As Mycroft stepped into the room he spotted Sherlock and Molly, his expression changed; the serious and determined look fell from his face making room for a soft and sympathetic look. He walked over to John who had stepped aside to let him enter the cottage, and shook his hand, “How is she?” he asked quietly. “She needs medical attention Mycroft as quickly as possible. She is extremely malnourished, traumatised and I believe she has been abused and raped repeatedly, the result of which is now very evident,” John hang his head as he spoke those last words. Mycroft looked shocked, his hand to his mouth in disbelief. It took him a couple of seconds before he regained his focus and walked outside to speak with the paramedics who were waiting patiently on the pavement. Two female nurses grabbed a stretcher and made their way into the room. Mycroft wanted to follow the women, but John stopped him, “Let’s give them some space, shall we? This will probably be overwhelming enough for Molly.” Mycroft nodded reluctantly, folding his arms as he stood next to John who didn’t take his eyes off the scene on the other side of the room.

Sherlock looked up as the paramedics approached them, protectively bringing up his hand to Molly's face to shield her from these unknown people. One of the nurses kneeled down next to them and put on a pair of latex gloves, “Hello Molly, my name is Helen, I’m here to help you. Could you turn your head so that I can have a look at you?” she asked kindly. Molly shook her head and buried herself deeper in Sherlock’s embrace, he could feel her shiver under his big coat. He cupped her face gently with both hands so that their eyes could meet, “Open your eyes dear, look at me. These people are here to help you. No one is going to hurt you anymore, I promise.” Molly nodded and turned around to face the nurse, the effort made her wince in pain. The paramedics set to work and carefully hooked her up to an IV, taking her pulse and blood pressure and quickly assessed her injuries to see if any of them needed immediate attention. The other nurse, who had introduced herself as Sarah looked at Sherlock, “We need to get her on the stretcher and into hospital as quickly as we can. Could you let go of her please?” Both Molly and Sherlock tensed at this question and Molly looked at him, desperation visible in her eyes, “I will not leave her! Not again,” “We don’t ask you to leave her, we just need to get her into the ambulance. You won’t have to leave her side, not for a moment – so long as you don’t obstruct our work.” The paramedic was firm, but the kindness was audible in her voice. Sherlock relaxed slightly as he slowly got up, still carrying Molly and he gently placed her on the stretcher. As her back touched to cold paper cover she flinched, her hands clutching Sherlock’s shirt, desperate for him not to let her go. Sherlock shushed, trying to calm her down. He placed a kiss on her forehead and took hold of her hand, his thumb stroking it reassuringly.

The paramedics wheeled the stretcher outside and Molly screwed her eyes shut at the sudden bright flood of sunlight. Sherlock kept close to her, walking next to the stretcher bent over, whispering constant soothing words to her and holding her hand. Awkwardly he climbed into the ambulance, trying his best to keep in Molly’s sight and he sat down next to her. The doors closed behind them and they were alone for the first time in months. Molly opened her eyes and looked straight into Sherlock’s, the tiniest flutter of hope filled her head; he really was here. The tears were flooding then, an endless stream flowing down her face – weeks and weeks of despair and terror were pouring out of her. Sherlock couldn’t help but cry too, he didn’t know what would happen next, but for now they were together again, she was still alive and she still trusted him. He kissed her carefully and lay one of his hands on her belly. Molly cringed, but Sherlock didn’t take his hand off her, instead he caressed her aching skin, “It’ll be alright dear.”


	9. Be gentle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Sherlock and Molly cope with all of this?
> 
> As for the next chapter, I'm still torn as to which direction to take this story..  
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy :)

Sherlock sat back in his seat, not taking his eyes off Molly as the ambulance merged swiftly into the ongoing traffic. The adrenaline that had built up in his body over the last couple of hours slowly drifted away, making place for a sickening feeling of worry and remorse. He knew Molly was a strong woman who could hold her ground, but Moriarty had broken her and she had cracked – understandably of course. She was disorientated and confused, flinching at every unexpected touch or sound. As the paramedics had closed the doors of the ambulance she had panicked, begging them not to take her to Bart’s. “Please no, not Bart’s. I don’t want them to know,” her voice weak and desperate. Sherlock had tried to shush her, “It’s ok, we’re not going there. Don’t worry love,” his words soft and reassuring. Mycroft had arranged a room at the nearby Lister Hospital, a quiet and private place where, he had promised, no questions would be asked.

It took them no more than ten minutes to reach the hospital where a small team of nurses and doctors were waiting for them. They opened the doors and quickly wheeled the stretcher out of the ambulance and into a large white hallway. The bright fluorescent lights caused Molly to jerk her head to the side, trying to bury her face under Sherlock’s coat. They made their way through the long corridor, Sherlock had seen scenes like this in movies. He had always hated the portrayal of the main characters; the patient lying on the stretcher, their loved ones walking next to them. A concerned look on their face, desperately clutching the hand of the patient. But now, here he was walking next to Molly. The knot in his stomach had not subsided one bit and Sherlock had to try his best to not burst out in tears or rage.

One of the nurses opened a door to a bright airy exam room where the team of doctors were standing ready. Sherlock stopped in the doorway and watched as the nurses heaved Molly from the stretcher onto the soft and comfortable bed. The doctors quickly set to work; they removed Sherlock’s coat from her naked body and began examining her injuries, hooking her up to another IV. One of the nurses wheeled an ultrasound machine next to the bed and Sherlock could see Molly tense up and she began to protest. She shook her head wildly, arms flailing around her, “No no no! Don’t! Nooo!” she cried, trying to get herself off the bed. Quickly Sherlock stepped in and put his hands on her shoulders, “Can this wait? Please?” he asked the nurse, as he shushed a panicked Molly. The nurse nodded and took the machine out of Molly’s sight, who calmed down slightly. The doctors stepped away from her bed, beckoning Sherlock to come with him while the nurses closed the curtains around Molly’s bed to freshen her up and get her dressed.

One of the doctors, who’d introduces himself as dr. McNeil, opened the door so that the three men could step out of the room. “Mr. Holmes,” he began, “As I am sure you’d understand Ms. Hooper would require medical attention for quite a while. Luckily none of her organs seemed to have sustained any injury, but the combination of the malnourishment, pregnancy and her overall mental health give us substantial cause for concern.” Sherlock stared down the corridor, absentmindedly fumbling with the keys in his pocket. “Your brother has informed us that he arranged private care for Ms. Hooper at any location you desire. If we might give some advice, we wouldn’t take her out of her familiar environment. We want to keep her here overnight; our social worker might want to see her later today.” The doctor tried to catch Sherlock’s gaze, who was still staring into the distance. “Mr. Holmes?” the man asked clearly, “If you wish you can stay with her of course, but perhaps you can ask a friend or relative to take over, it’s been quite an eventful day for you as well.” Sherlock looked up, his voice sharp – almost offended even, “I will stay here. In case you hadn’t noticed, she needs me and I seem to be the only one capable of calming her down and reassuring her!” “Of course,” the doctor said apologetic, “I will ask one of the staff to bring you some toiletries and a change of clothes. If you have any questions, just press the button next to the bed.” He shook Sherlock’s hand and together with his colleagues walked away.  

Sherlock took his phone out of his pocket and entered John’s number, he wasn’t sure why he called him, but he yearned for a friendly voice telling him it’d all be ok. John picked up almost immediately, “Hello?” “John, hello,” he said simply. He felt the horrible knot tightening again and his eyes started to water. “Sherlock, how is she?” John asked quickly, Sherlock could hear he had been waiting for a call. “I don’t know. The doctors say her internal organs are all fine, but they worry about her mental state, and so do I. I miss her John, it’s like she’s here but at the same time she isn’t. Why does it hurt to see her like this?” his voice cracked. He heard John take a deep breath on the other side of the line, “Because you love her mate. When we see someone dear to us in pain, it pains us too. That’s one of the side effects of love.” “Will she be ok?” he asked – he needed to hear someone say it, he needed clarity. “I’m sure she will, it’ll just take time” John assured him. “Be gentle with her, Sherlock. Give her space to heal, but don’t give up on her.” Sherlock was quiet, John’s words echoed in his head. “You alright mate?” asked John, “Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?” It took Sherlock a few minutes before he answered, trying to pull himself together. “The doctors told me that she could come home tomorrow, Mycroft apparently has arranged a private nurse to take care of Molly for the time being. Could you briefly explain what is going on to Mrs. Hudson? I don’t think either of us will want to talk about it when we come home,” “Of course, after I pick up Rosie at daycare this afternoon we’ll pop by the flat and make sure everything is sorted. You take care, ok?” “Thanks,” Sherlock said briefly and hung up the phone.

He turned around and walked back into the room. Molly had calmed down again and was now slumped against the big, soft pillows, her eyes open and staring out the window. One of the nurses had placed a tray of food on the bedside table along with a strong cup of tea. Sherlock walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair next to Molly. She turned her head and looked at him, the fear had subsided and it was clear the comfort and warmth and the tiny bites of toast had given her a bit more strength. He took her hand, absently twisting and playing with the rings on her fingers. Molly placed her other hand on his, her movements were still followed by hisses of pain, “I’m tired Sherlock,” she said softly. “I know,” he whispered and walked over to the windows to close the curtains. “Get some sleep love, I’ll be here.” Molly nodded and closed her eyes, trying to give in to the pleasing prospect of rest. Sherlock sat back in the comfortable chair that stood in the corner of the room, he had taken off his jacket and shoes and pulled his feet up under his legs. He saw Molly toss and turn, her heart rate climbing and her head shaking uncontrollably; he knew the memories were flooding back. There was a tiny knock on the door and Sherlock stood up to open it. The corridor was empty, except for the small black case lying on the floor – it was Sherlock’s violin – a note taped to the black leather exterior. _Be there for her. Make her feel safe, Mycroft._ He picked it up, feeling intensely grateful for his brother and took the violin out of the case. He closed the door behind him, looking at Molly’s troubled movements and gently plucked the first string. She responded to the sound, even in her sleep; her breathing calmed down and she stopped flinching. Sherlock took the bow in his hand, placing the violin under his chin and slowly started playing. A beautiful, light melody filled the room, not only comforting Molly, but he also felt his own breathing steadying, his head clearing and the knot in his stomach lessening. They would be alright. One day.

 


	10. Do you want to go home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we think Molly is going to deal with all of it?  
> Will she be alright?

Molly woke up and opened her eyes. The room was dark and quiet and it smelled different than she had gotten used to over the weeks; a warm, musky smell. She tried to turn around but felt something lying next to her, an arm wrapped around her. Her head filled with horrible images of Jim Moriarty climbing into the bed with her, positioning himself behind her. It was just a memory but she could almost feel the intense pain as she thought back of him entering her - brutally, forcefully and without preparing her for it. The flashbacks caused her to panic; desperately she tried to get away, hitting the resting arm on her side with clenched fists and she screamed. Suddenly the light flicked on and Molly saw that she was in a different room, this was a white and bright space. The person lying next to her brought his hands to her face and stroked it gently. It took Molly a few moments before the figure swam into focus, dark curls framed a long face, kind eyes met hers and she realised this wasn’t Moriarty. Sherlock was very close to her, his fingers gliding through her hair and he tried to soothe her with a humming voice. Molly looked at him and felt the panic subside; she was safe and Sherlock was there. 

There was a knock on the door and a friendly-looking woman entered the room tentatively, she carried a grey briefcase in one hand and a pile of folders in the other. She walked over to the bed where both Sherlock and Molly were still lying next to each other. Quickly Sherlock got off the bed and greeted the woman, who shook his hand and introduced herself, “Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, my name is Katie Wells and I am the hospital’s dedicated crisis and social worker," she sat down on a chair next to the bed and stuck out her hand to shake Molly's, "Hello Molly, I'm Katie. Would it be ok if we were to have a little chat?" Hesitantly, Molly shook the woman's hand and nodded, but immediately turned to Sherlock for his support. He climbed on the bed and sat himself behind Molly so that she could rest against his chest. "It's ok love, just tell her what you can and if you want to, we'll stop," he whispered. Katie looked at the pair and cleared her throat, "Alright Molly, do you want to tell me how you feel?" "Tired," Molly answered softly, "Numb, but scared and angry too." Katie nodded in sympathy, "I understand. Can you talk about what happened in the last couple of weeks?" Molly turned her head around, desperately seeking comfort and security with Sherlock, her hands reaching for his. Sherlock kissed her hair and wrapped his arms around her, "You're doing great, you're so strong." Molly trembled slightly, her voice weak as she began to speak, "Jim took me away, he forced me to get into his car. He brought me to a small house where he kept me and tied me to a filthy bed. He was there every day when I woke up and he would hurt me, he r-" she stopped suddenly and closed her eyes. 

"It's ok Molly, you're doing brilliantly. Just take your time." Katie said, encouraging her to carry on. "The first time was horrific. He came into the room, laughing and he put tie-wraps around my wrists, tying my ankles to the posts of the bed. He climbed on top of me and covered my mouth with his hands. I couldn't move, couldn't make a sound. And then he started to have sex with me." It felt like a relieve, to finally be able to talk about it and she continued. "After the first time he would come and visit me every day, bringing me a bottle of water and something to eat. He would let me eat and go to the toilet and after that he would force me to get back onto the bed and he would tie me up again and do the same thing to me as the day before. Every day, every day." Sherlock realised there were silent tears rolling down his face, poor Molly, how much pain she'd had to endure. She had been so brave and so strong. Katie jotted down a few notes before looking at Molly again, "Thank you for sharing this Molly. Do you think you can tell me how you feel about the pregnancy? There are many options we can discuss on how to deal with it." Molly froze completely and brought her hands to her face, shutting herself off from her surroundings. She heard Sherlock's voice echoing in the distance, "Can we stop please?" 

They woke up the next morning and Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall. It had been sixteen hours since Katie had left the room and Molly hadn't uttered a single word. Sherlock had tried to talk to her, asking her what she wanted and how he could help, but she hadn't answered. He decided to change course and began talking about the first time they had met. He told her about how amazed he had been by her knowledge and her passion for her work. He recalled how much of an arse he had been to her the first time he spoke to her and how taken aback he was by her blunt response. Molly looked at his and smiled, genuinely, for the first time in weeks and joined in on the conversation. They talked for what felt like hours, about work, about their childhood and their dreams. Sherlock saw Molly opening up more and more, her eyes had started to shine again and her voice became happier and more cheerful. Gently he took her hand and placed a kiss on her palm, "Do you want to go home with me?" He asked and she nodded.

***

They had come home nearly two months ago and it had taken Molly several weeks to get back into life at Baker Street. Sherlock had not left her side the first couple of days; he had put his chair in his bedroom where he spent hours reading out cases, working on his notes or playing his violin whilst Molly was resting in his – was it theirs now? - bed. After six weeks the nurse, Lydia, had told them that she felt confident Molly was on the mend, she had gained nearly eight pounds and could move around on her own again. Lydia had left them a pile of pamphlets of organisations who could offer aftercare and telephone numbers they could ring if they had any questions. On the one hand Sherlock was glad that Lydia left, it meant that they could slowly start working on their life together again. On the other hand, he was still worried about Molly, she seemed to be in much better spirit and got better every day. But she had refused any checks and had evaded all questions regarding her pregnancy; it seemed she wanted to pretend nothing had happened. What she didn't know was that, over the weeks, Sherlock had been working on John's old bedroom upstairs. He had cleared out all the clutter and junk, scrubbed and cleaned every inch of it and even painted it a soft grey-ish colour. He had asked John to help him, and his friend had brought boxes of baby clothes and toys, as well as a lovely wooden cot and a tiny Moses basket. Molly might have been in denial, but he couldn't pretend he didn’t see her belly growing every day. She'd be having a baby in a few months and he had to be prepared to deal with it. 

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, eyes focussed on the microscope in front of him. A warm late-night May breeze filled the flat with the promising prospects of summer. It was half past eleven and Molly had been asleep for nearly two hours. She had found a new routine which allowed her to settle back into normal life. She would work from home for a couple of hours; working on reports and answering emails, and the rest of the day she would spend with Sherlock. They would go out for a bit, take a walk in the park, do some shopping and so on. It felt good to go out into the world again, being with Sherlock made her feel safe; his wrapped around her shoulder protectively.

The bedroom door opened and Sherlock looked up from the experiment he was working on. Molly was standing in the doorway, her hands under her rather impressive belly, breathing heavily. Quickly Sherlock got up and walked towards her, he could see the pained expression on her face. "I think something is wrong." She said with a scared and trembling voice.


	11. Deep breaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution!  
> Pregnancy and birth-related triggers in this and the next chapter.
> 
> Labour has started..  
> Molly and Sherlock have to work their way through this
> 
> Enjoy :)

Molly woke up feeling utterly uncomfortable, a nagging pain spread out in her lower back. She rolled over on her side and tried to settle back down into the pillows, she was very tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep. The pain in her back lessened a bit now that she was lying on her side and she closed her eyes, pulling the duvet over her shoulders. But she couldn’t fall asleep again, the pain had moved to her thighs and to the lower part of her stomach, causing the muscles to cramp up. In response she tensed up and held her breath until the pain subsided slightly. Her body relaxed again and Molly sat up to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table; she'd only been asleep for twenty minutes. She sighed as she let herself fall back onto the mattress, it was probably just a pulled muscle or a strange move in her sleep that had set off the pain, nothing to worry about. She closed her eyes again and after tossing and turning for a while she drifted off into a light, hazy sleep. 

After just ten minutes another sensation caused Molly to wake up, this time her entire stomach tensed up; a stabbing pain hit her deep within her pelvis and she couldn't help letting out a quiet "ouch, fuck!" Her hands moved to her belly and she rolled over onto her knees, her head buried in her pillow. The pain dragged on for thirty or so seconds and all Molly could do was rocking her hips from left to right and taking deep breaths. As she felt the pain ease off she sat back onto her heels and tried to get her head around what was happening. Of course she knew what was happening, she didn’t need her medical education to tell her that these pains were caused by contractions of the uterus. But the timing wasn't right, it had been just over six months since her first 'encounter' with Moriarty. Having contractions at roughly 25 weeks could only mean one thing: there was something very wrong. Slowly she got off the bed, walked over to the door and opened it. She could see Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table and as she entered the kitchen he looked up, alarmed. The concerned look on his face triggered something in Molly and unconsciously she brought her hands to her stomach again. Another pain built up deep within her groin and she whispered softly, "I think something is wrong."

Sherlock had jumped off his chair and hurried over to Molly. His hands grabbing her upper arms and he looked at her, "What is it love? Are you hurt?" He asked worriedly as he guided her to the closest chair. She nodded and closed her eyes as the pain reached its peak, "I think I'm having a contraction," Sherlock kneeled down next to her and brushed the hair out of her face, "Are you sure? I mean, you're not even -" he stopped as he saw tears forming in Molly's eyes. "I don’t know. They've been going on all day, but I didn't want to think about is. Sherlock, I'm scared." Sherlock cupped her face with his hands and got up to plant a kiss on her forehead. "It'll be alright dear, I promise. How have you been the last couple of days? Did you notice any changes? Did the baby move around as usual?" Molly shook her head, the tears that had been welling in her eyes were now rolling down her cheeks. "No, I've not felt anything for a while, but I was glad because I didn't want to think about it at all." Her stomach cramped up again and quickly she searched for Sherlock's hand. Her breaths became faster and shallower and she closed her eyes, hoping it all would end soon. As her grip on Sherlock's hand loosened she looked at him, "What do I do? I don’t want this!" She started to sob quietly and she sank into Sherlock's strong and welcoming arms. "I'll ring Mycroft and have him arrange a car so that we can go to hospital. It'll be fine, Molly look at me. It'll be fine." Their eyes met again and Sherlock could see the fear on her face as she opened her mouth, "No, no hospital please. I don't want to go." 

Sherlock got up and put his hands on his head as he wondered what he was supposed to do. He knew that if he took Molly to hospital she would panic and her traumas would resurface, but she needed help; if she really was in labour things would only get worse. He turned around and grabbed Molly's hand. Gently he guided her back to the bedroom and helped her get into bed, all the while assuring her it would be alright. Molly was exhausted and even though she knew it would only be a few more minutes before the next wave of pain, she willingly got back under the covers. Sherlock watched her settle into the pillows and as her breathing became steadier, he took out his phone. "John," he said as his friend answered, "It's Molly. Could you come over?" It took John a few seconds to registrar what was happening, his head still groggy and sleepy, but quickly he realised there was only one reason Sherlock would call him at this hour of night. "Give me half an hour, I'll be there as soon as I can." Sherlock hung up and looked around the room, he felt uneasy and unsure what to do; he wasn’t prepared for anything like this. At university he'd read books on labour and delivery, but only because it was compulsory for his biology modules. He'd never been interested in it or keen on knowing exactly what a human body had to endure in the process. 

Molly sucked in a deep breath of air as she felt her stomach contracting again, she screwed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. Panic was surging through her head, it didn’t seem like the pains were going to ease off or disappear. She felt Sherlock lying down next to her and he took her hand and tried to shush her, "Breathe through it Molly, deep breaths. You’re doing great." They spent a good few minutes lying next to each other, Sherlock rubbed Molly's lower back and she felt her muscles relax under his skilful hands. She turned around so that she was facing Sherlock and through the tears she saw his kind eyes observing her, she knew his mind was racing; trying to think of what to do next. "Sherlock," she said suddenly, "I don’t want to see it. You know, after it's born." Sherlock swallowed hard, not sure how to react, "Don't you worry about that. We'll deal with it when we have to. But are you sure you don’t want to go to hospital? I mean, even at this stage a neonatal unit could offer help. There might even be a chance that -" Molly shook her head, "No. I don’t want to be in someone else's bed ever again. I don't want this child. I want it to be over so that we can carry on with our normal lives" She said with a feigned determination and bravado in her voice. "Oh Molly," Sherlock sighed as he stroked her hair and kissed her cheek, "It'll be alright."


	12. My baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution!
> 
> Some very intense and perhaps graphic birth-related triggers ahead  
> Please read with caution.
> 
> For lack of a better word, enjoy ;)

A door opened downstairs and Sherlock could hear hurried footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door swung open and John stepped into the dark room. He saw Molly on all fours on the bed, rocking her body back and forth, moaning through the pain. Sherlock was sitting behind her, his hands gliding over her hips and spine, trying to help her deal with the contraction. As Molly sank down onto her elbows and let out a big sigh, Sherlock looked up and stared at John, fear visible in his eyes. Quietly, John walked over to the bed and crouched down next to Molly. "Hello there," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, "let's see how we can help you with this, shall we?" Molly opened her eyes and saw John's friendly face floating in front of hers. "It hurts," she whispered softly, "It really hurts and it's getting more intense. I can't help it. Can you make it stop, please?" "Now, we wouldn't want that dear, trust me," John said as he turned around and searched for his stethoscope and gloves in his bag. "Can you lie on your back so that I can have a listen and feel how we're doing?" Molly rolled her tired body over and let her head fall back down into the pillows. Sherlock was still lying next to her, his fingers intertwined with hers and she could see his gaze fixed on John out of the corner of her eye. 

John rolled up his sleeves and put on his gloves, his mind had shifted into doctor-mode completely. He looked at Molly, she was exhausted; her face was pale and her eyes red and watery. Was this the right way to do things? Could they really let her go through this without any pain relief? "Uhm, Molly?" He suggested hesitantly, "Don’t you think you'd be more comfortable in hosp -"" He stopped abruptly when he saw Sherlock shaking his head, as to signal him not to bring up the option. John nodded and didn’t finish his sentence. "Right, I'll have to check you in order to see how far along you are. I know this might be hard, but it is necessary, both for your safety as well as the baby's." Carefully he slid off Molly's pyjama bottoms and her underwear. He could hear her shudder at this action and he felt incredibly sorry for her, this must be utter hell for her. "Are you alright Molly?" He asked and she hummed softly. John brought his fingers to her entrance and cautiously slid two fingers into her vagina, feeling her cervix and trying to assess the situation.

Molly flinched as she felt John entering her. She jerked her head to the side and brought her hands to her face, the memories were flooding back. She could feel Moriarty doing the same thing to her, stretching her unceremoniously with whatever object he had available. Frightened by the thought of what was coming next, she tried to close her legs and roll away. Two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back into the mattress. She could hear a voice in the distance, calling her name and she realised it wasn't Moriarty. She let her hands fall from her face and saw Sherlock close to her, "Shh Molly, you're ok. You're safe, we're not going to hurt you." She relaxed slightly and she felt John's fingers sliding out of her, just in time as another contraction was building up. Both John and Sherlock tried to coach her through it, encouraging her to take deep and slow breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. As the contraction faded away, John cleared his throat, "You're eight centimetres dilated Molly, you're very close now. It shouldn't be long." He stood up from the bed and beckoned Sherlock to come over to him. "Do we know exactly how far along she is?" He asked worriedly, "I mean, it's only been a couple of months since, well you know..." Sherlock sighed and nodded, "I'm not sure, she didn’t want to know. Refused to go to a midwife whenever I asked her. I tried to do some maths, but at most she's seven months along. Will the baby be alright if it's born now?" John shrugged and looked over to Molly, who had rolled back onto her hands and knees. "We'll have to wait and see mate. Usually babies born around 28 weeks have a good chance, but if Molly refuses to go to hospital -" He grabbed his friend by the arms and looked at him, "Sherlock, we'll manage, I promise." 

The two men turned back to Molly, and immediately John noticed a shift in her breathing and movements. She was still on all fours, her head resting on her arms and she was swaying her hips slowly. A deep, primal groan escaped her mouth, followed by shallow hisses of pain. John hurried over to the bed and kneeled down next to Molly, "Don't push yet Molly. It's too soon, you'll only wear yourself out if you push now. Try to pant and breath, I know it's hard but you have to slow down." Molly looked at him as the contraction slowly subsided and John could see her expression had changed. "I'm scared," she said with a hoarse voice, "I can't do this. What if something is – ouch, ow ouch!" Another contraction hit her only seconds after the last one, but this one was different; it wasn't so much cramping anymore, she felt an immense amount of pressure. "Sherlock!" She cried out, desperately searching his hand, "Christ, no! Fuck, this hurts." Sherlock rushed over to her and grabbed her hand, "Hush Molly, keep breathing. In and out, in and out." But Molly couldn't focus on her breathing anymore, the pain and pressure had taken hold of her and all she could do was give in to the sensation. She noticed an odd, plopping feeling and suddenly felt something wet dripping down her thighs; her waters had broken. There was no way back now. The pain changed again, her waters had provided a nice cushion around the tiny frame of the baby and now that they had gone the stinging sensation became almost too much to bear. 

Molly shifted onto her back, not letting go of Sherlock's hand and panted heavily, the pain didn’t stop, the constant pressure triggered something within her body. She'd read about women losing touch with their surroundings during the last stages of labour. How they'd give in to their natural and primal instincts, but she never thought she'd be one to become loud and vocal when in pain. "John," she said as she felt the baby's head move even lower into the birth canal causing a burning sensation, "I have to push, it's too much." Swiftly, John moved over to her legs and gently placed her ankles close to her bum so that her knees could fall to the side. He didn’t need to feel her to tell how far along she was; he could see the top of the baby's head crowning. 'This is it Molly," he said, "In a minute I'm going to ask you to push, but I need you to listen to me. When I say stop, I need you to stop pushing and pant through the pain, ok?" He quickly got up and grabbed a pile of towels out of the dresser in the corner of the room and placed one under Molly's bottom. He looked at Sherlock, who seemed paralysed and was still lying next to Molly, "Mate, can you go and sit behind Molly? That way she can lean into you for support." Sherlock awkwardly positioned himself at the top of the bed, a pillow behind his back and he let Molly sink into his body, a leg either side of her.

Moans filled the room as Molly was hit by the next wave of never-ending pain. "Alright Molly, if you want you can bear down." John instructed her as he gave her a comforting pat on her knee. Molly took a deep breath and she tried to push with the pain. The burning stings intensified and instinctively she stopped, but quickly she realised that the pushing was in fact taking the edge of the pain and she carried on through the contraction. As the pain faded she felt the head slid back into the birth canal and she slumped back into Sherlock's chest. Her heart was pounding and she tried to catch her breath in the precious seconds in between contractions. Sherlock kissed her hair and put a cold damp cloth on her sweaty forehead, "You’re so strong love. You're doing brilliantly." He whispered as he brushed the wet hair out of her face. She grabbed her knees and brought her legs close to her chest and pushed again, a long push that forced her to let out several cries of pain. "That's it Molly, slow down. Short breaths and the head will be born any second now." Said John, as he brought his hands to Molly's vagina to guide the baby's head out. Molly panted and a few moments later she felt and heard a loud 'pop' and a great relieve as the head broke free. Sherlock watched in amazement as Molly birthed so bravely and strong. 

He saw John look at the baby's head and couldn't help but notice the concerned frown on the doctor's face. "Molly, with the next pain I need you to give a big push, we need to get baby out as soon as we can." The matter of urgency was audible in his voice, but Molly had already withdrawn into herself as she readied herself for the last parts of labour.  She worked hard to get the shoulders out, an occasional moan coming from her mouth as she used her last bits of strength to deliver the hardest part of the body. She gasped loudly as the tiny baby slid free and all the pain and discomfort fell from her body at once. She threw her head back onto Sherlock's shoulder and her chest heaved as she regained her breath. Sherlock was in awe by what he had just seen and all he could do was fight the tears and hug Molly, "Well done you wonderful girl. You've done beautifully." It took Molly a few moments to get back to earth and she opened her eyes. She looked at John as he was reaching for his stethoscope and a sickening feeling formed in her chest. Her stomach obstructed her view and she couldn't see what he was doing. "Why can't I hear anything?" She asked, "Why isn’t he crying? John, answer me!" Desperately she tried to sit up, but her drained body had no energy left. "John?" asked Sherlock with a broken voice, "what’s wrong?"

John sighed as he searched for the words and the courage to tell his friends what had happened. He looked at Molly and he saw the terrified look on her face. With his heart beating in his chest he cleared his throat, "From what I can tell you were further along than any of us thought. Your baby was probably nearly full-term," "What do you mean, was?" Shrieked Molly as she felt Sherlock clutching her hands. "I'm sorry Molly. There is nothing we can do, I'm so sorry." He turned his gaze away and felt his eyes sting as Molly's scream pierced his soul. John took one of the towels that were lying next to him and ever so carefully he wrapped the baby in the soft fabric, trying to avoid pulling on the umbilical cord that was still tying the baby to Molly. "Do you want to see or hold him Molly?" He asked quietly. Instantly she reached out her arms and John gently placed the little bundle in her waiting hands. Sherlock was still sitting behind her and looked over her shoulder as Molly brought the baby close to her. It was a perfect little human, ten fingers and ten toes. Eyes closed and Sherlock could see the tiny nose that looked exactly like Molly's. The top of the baby's head was covered in – both Sherlock and Molly saw it at the same time – tiny dark curls. Sherlock felt a lump in his throat and Molly started to sob silently as she whispered, "our baby, oh my poor baby. Sherlock, look at him." Sherlock started to cry too, all this time they'd both dreaded it would have been Moriarty's baby. They never even considered that Molly could have conceived weeks before she was taken away. 

Molly wept uncontrollably as she rocked from side to side, cradling her child close to her heart. John could hardly look at the scene in front of him, the insane emotional rollercoaster they had all been on for months had ended in utter tragedy. In order to change his thoughts, he set to work on delivering the afterbirth, asking Molly for one final push. After the placenta was born he looked at Sherlock, "Do you want to cut the cord mate? Or should I?" The detective got up slowly, so that Molly could sink into the pillows behind her, and he walked over to John. With trembling hands, he took the scissors from his friend and looked at the umbilical cord, carefully placing the scissors between the two clamps and cut through it. He gazed at his love and their motionless child and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. As John cleaned up his equipment and the bloody towels, Sherlock crawled back into bed. His eyes studied the tiny baby, subconsciously searching for any clues as to why their child had passed. Carefully he lifted a piece of the towel and his heart shattered into a million pieces. He wrapped his arm around his little family and kissed Molly through their tears. "Our little boy. I'm so sorry little man." Sherlock whispered as he placed a small kiss on the boy's black curls. 


	13. Hello you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek, the final chapter is here!  
> Please be aware, there might be some triggers in the first half of the chapter, see the tags ;)
> 
> I must confess I really enjoyed writing this and seeing your comments made it even better :)  
> Thank you and enjoy!

*** Two years later ***

Snow was falling heavily outside the small stone cottage. The wind was howling and even though it was only four in the afternoon, the sun had already started to set. Sherlock was standing in front of the roaring fire, his eyes glancing over the mantelpiece which was filled with picture frames and a big white candle. The room was warm and the simply decorated christmas tree filled the place with a wonderful smell of pine, comfort and winter. They had moved here a year ago, neither Molly nor Sherlock had ever managed to settle back into life at Baker Street. Molly desperately wanted to get out of the city, it was tainted with too many memories and Sherlock had had to admit he felt less and less at home in his once-beloved London. They had found this cottage in a quaint little village close to Molly's parents and they had quickly adapted to this new lifestyle.

As he stared at the pictures, Sherlock casted his mind back. It had been over eighteen months since Molly had given birth to their son. He thought back on that dreadful night; how they had spent hours sitting together, crying, comforting each other and admiring the beautiful boy cradled in their arms. John had been amazing, he had cleaned up the remnants of the birth, had brought them tea and toast and called Mycroft. Sherlock didn't think he'd ever forget the look on his brother's face when he'd entered the room in the early hours of the morning. Mycroft's otherwise stern and serious expression had made way for a sad softness in his eyes as he saw his brother and his broken little family. He had walked up to the bed and did something he hadn't done for over thirty years; he embraced Sherlock, deeply, compassionately. After he'd spent a few minutes talking to Molly, expressing his condolences, he'd set to work on arranging all the necessary forms and important phone calls. He had offered to arrange a private funeral for them to which Molly and Sherlock had eventually had agreed.

Four days later Sherlock had woken up to an empty space next to him in bed. He got up and walked into the kitchen, expecting to find Molly sitting at the table drinking her morning tea and eating breakfast but she wasn't in there, nor was she in the living room. He called her name but there came no response. Suddenly he realised what day it was – not that he'd forgotten – and quickly he walked up the stairs. He opened the door to the nursery and saw Molly standing in front of the changing table, surrounded by open boxes and piles of clothes. "What are you doing?" He asked, tentatively. She turned around and he could see the redness in her eyes, "I can't find anything suitable for him to wear. He has to be warm and safe, I don’t want him to be scared and alone!" Molly dissolved into tears and Sherlock hurried over to her and hugged her tightly, "I know dear, I know. We'll find something perfect for him." After half an hour there was a small knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room, clutching a tissue in her hand, "The car is here loves," she said as she took hold of Sherlock's arm, squeezing it, "I'll be thinking of you today." Sherlock and Molly nodded and they silently went downstairs and stepped into the waiting car. 

They arrived at the funeral home twenty minutes later and as the driver got out to open the door for them Molly looked at Sherlock, "I don't think I can do this," she whispered as she stared out the window. "Neither can I," replied Sherlock, "We'll do our best." The next hour was a complete blur for both of them. As they entered the family room they were greeted by the funeral director who showed them to the table on which stood a tiny willow basket. Molly grabbed Sherlock tightly as they walked up to see their son again. The funeral director gave them plenty of time and space to talk to and kiss their child. Molly straightened his tiny curls ever so carefully and she took a tiny grey cardigan and onesie out of her purse. Together with Sherlock she dressed the little boy in his final, carefully chosen outfit. "This is it, isn't it?" Said Molly quietly as they stood back and looked at their son lying on the white linen cushion in the basket. Sherlock nodded, took Molly's hand and asked, "are you ready dear?" They looked at each other and with incredible sorrow in their hearts they closed the coffin. 

Hand in hand they walked out of the door and followed the corridor to the room where the ceremony would take place. They looked up as they saw Mycroft walked up to them, his phone in his hand. "I understand the timing is extremely poor, but I haven’t had a chance to speak to you," he said as they caught up with each other. "Sherlock, I know this might sound odd, but when we informed our sister about what had happened she made this and demanded, in her own ways, to let you hear it." He unlocked his phone and Sherlock saw an audio file on the screen, he nodded and Mycroft hit the play-button. The most serene, yet hauntingly beautiful melody filled the corridor and it seemed that each note that Euros had played, hit both Molly and Sherlock deep within their heart. They stood for a few minutes and listened and once the tune was over, Molly looked at Mycroft and said, "Can we play this when we carry him out of the ceremony?" "Of course, I'll see to it." Answered Mycroft and together they walked into the room. It was a short but beautiful service, with Sherlock's and Molly's parents attending, as well as John and Mycroft. After the final words had been spoken and Euros' music faded away, the group went outside and prepared a toast. "To Thomas Owen Hooper-Holmes," said Sherlock as he raised his glass. "To Thomas."" said the group in unison.

***

Sherlock shook his head and opened his eyes, the memories were not too painful anymore, but there were still times he found himself drifting away. There came a sound from the room next door and a woman stepped into the living room, "What is taking you so long?" He turned around and saw Susan standing in the doorway, arms folded. Startled, Sherlock looked at her and quickly grabbed the bag that was standing next to the couch and handed it to her. Susan walked back into the hallway and Sherlock followed her into the bedroom which was bathing in an orange glow coming from a dozen candles. There was an inflatable pool in the middle of the room and Sherlock saw Molly looking up at him as he entered, "I thought you chickened out and left me here alone," she said jokingly. He rushed over to her side and sank down into the pool next to her, "I'm sorry, I was just..Never mind, sorry." he apologized, but Molly gave him a playful punch in the stomach and said, "It's ok love, it's not like I've never done this before. In fact, I think you might as well wait out- ooh oow!" Susan stepped in and put her hand on Molly's shoulder, "Work with it Molly. Let your body do what feels good." Molly let out a deep breath of air and closed her eyes. "That's it! Well done you," encouraged Susan, "One more, there we go!" 

With a big gasp, Molly felt her body relax and she reached out her hands into the water. Carefully she brought the slippery baby to her chest and she looked up at Sherlock, both fear and amazement in her eyes. Only seconds later the room filled with the most wonderful sound either of them could have ever dreamed of. The tiny cries and shrieks filled Molly's heart with an immense amount of love and she looked down at the baby in her arms, "Hello you. Oh aren't you beautiful. Sherlock look! It's a girl! We have a little girl," Tears of joy were streaming down Molly's face and she smiled at Sherlock, who kissed her deeply. "Hello little Evie," he said as he stroked the little girl's cheeks. He swallowed hard as he looked at the two people he loved most, they'd be alright. Gently, he took Molly's hand and kissed the ring on her finger, "Well done, Mrs. Holmes." 

 

THE END


End file.
